


An Da Shealladh

by Dryad



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: AU, Apparently this is a casefile, I Don't Even Know, I Tried, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, eventual slash, the struggle is real
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 04:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11959710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: The North. The place everyone was warned about when they were young, where dreams are stolen, where the Dead speak, where James Hathaway and Robbie Lewis are sent on a case.The North, where Hathaway will find the past come to haunt him, and Lewis will find his present tested.





	An Da Shealladh

**Author's Note:**

> [The Plucking of a Cosmic Harp](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11069745) sets up this story, but you don't have to read it in order to understand this one.

"I'm sending you up North," Innocent said without preamble, closing the office door behind Robbie firmly. 

"I don't know why you wanted Sergeant Hathaway," she continued, taking a seat at her desk, then looking up at him with irritation when he remained standing. "Especially having known him for all of five minutes. Nonetheless, there's been a request for him from the Northern Office and as his officer of note you'll have to keep him in check. He can be...overzealous where the law is concerned."

"Yes, Ma'am," said Robbie. 

"Now I'm sure you're familiar with the rules - "

"I grew up within the vicinity of the wall."

She nodded. "Good. Then maybe you can keep Hathaway on track."

"Ma'am."

Innocent gave him half a glare, then pushed the file in front of her towards him. "Kaye Smithfield has a Ghost Magyk problem. There have been four deaths thus far, including the past magyker and his assistant. In addition, a young boy, John Boyd, visiting a History Centre with his parents, has gone missing. He is your top priority, let the locals deal with the murders."

Innocent pursed her lips, then sighed. "I don't know how much you've heard, being abroad for the last few years, but since the border was opened to the public at large, the growth of Magyk has become more and more of a problem. Englishmen and women are traveling up there to learn the craft, bringing it back South without true knowledge of what they're doing…and since native magykers are prohibited, well, you can see what's going to happen."

"Have there been deaths in England?"

"None that we're aware of thus far. But, it's only a matter of time."

Hathaway was already in a mood, judging by the smoldering gaze he sent when Robbie walked into the office, file in hand. Trouble, indeed. Well, it wasn't like Robbie hadn't already known the man was temperamental when he'd asked for him in the first place. That first day back at the station, the scuttlebutt he had overheard concerning Hathaway and his DI had been...enlightening. Of course, the same things had been said about Morse, which rather marked Hathaway up in favour to Robbie. _Thinky gent_ , that's what Sergeant Sawyer had said, though he hadn't meant it as a positive. That was all right by Robbie. A good copper always paid attention to the gossip, then decided for themselves what was or wasn't worth their time. And now, twenty-four hours after his request for Hathaway to be his bagman had been confirmed, they were being sent to the most volatile area in all of the United Kingdom.

He sat down and began to read. Magykers, murders, Highland death cults, possible kidnappings, English folk frightened and excited in equal amounts. Finally he put the file down and laced his fingers across his stomach. Looked at Hathaway. Pondered.

"Well?" asked Hathaway, two high spots of color on his cheeks. "I take it that's something to do with me?"

"Aye, lad," Robbie said mildly. "How do you fancy going up North to solve a problem like Mairead?"

Hathaway's face crumpled into a pained, disbelieving frown. "Did you really just ask me that out loud?"

Robbie grinned. He had never missed an opportunity to leave Morse in cultural agony and saw no reason to stop with Hathaway, seeing as they were so similar. 

"Not only is that awful, it's not even good."

But Robbie could tell the terrible joke had had the right affect, as Hathaway's shoulders dropped and his expression became less tight. "The Northern Office has requested your presence."

"What, can't they find anyone up there to do the dirty work?"

"They want you," Robbie repeated, taken aback by Hathaway's bitter tone.

"Fine," said Hathaway, getting to his feet, black jacket in hand. "But they've far better magykers than me, natives."

"Englishmen have died, but we're going up for a missing persons case," said Robbie, following Hathaway into the hallway. "The Northern Office wants to avoid a political incident, and I suspect you're the best of all worlds, being English, a magyker, and a cop."

"Mm."

Robbie drove. 

He wanted the business of the road, though traffic thinned once they passed Newcastle. He still felt it; the pull of the north, the warmth of its people, the lowering large sky, the beauty of thicket and field, the wildness of the sea beyond. If Val were still alive...but she was not, and returning here now felt curiously empty of personal interest. Fond memories of his youth, that's what he felt, not the realities and emotional ties to Oxford, where he and Val had spent the majority of their married life.

Once through Customs, Hathaway took the wheel. 

"The North never truly regained its population after the Clearances," began Hathaway, shifting into third gear as they passed the blue _Failte gu Alba/Welcome to Scotland_ sign. "For awhile the sheep outnumbered the people, but once New Zealand and Australian lamb and wool became prominent, the international market for Caledonian meats crashed, and the wilderness returned."

"And Magyk?" ventured Robbie, not wishing to break the spell of Hathaway's voice.

Hathaway's gaze flicked towards Robbie for a brief second. "Always there. Hidden in the glens and forests of the highlands, at the tops of the Munros, in the burns of the deepest valleys in the Borders. There are records from Rome - ancient Rome, not Vatican City - that mention the Magykers of the day. Sometimes painted with woad, sometimes just ordinary people. You can imagine what the Romans thought of them. Apparently they wore animal skins and masks, beat on drums with instruments of bone. They sacrificed animals - "

"Who didn't, back then?" interrupted Robbie, noting Hathaway's defensive tone. "People know better now, I'm sure."

Or did they? What if the murders were ritual sacrifices, rather than the personal vendetta he had assumed them to be from the start, because who sacrificed people in the modern world?

"One would assume," replied Hathaway. "Many of the older customs have fallen into the dust of history, for good reasons. I like to think that Magyk as it is used now brings peace to those who would otherwise not have any."

Robbie waited for Hathaway to continue, but silence fell, instead. He watched the scenery for a little while; it wasn't so different from the north of England. Less populated, obviously, but villages dotted the landscape, along with castles and fortified houses still flying clan flags.

Just as Robbie was getting antsy with the need for a toilet and a bite to eat, Hathaway pulled of the M9 on to a side road without designation. Oddly, though the roads was well maintained, there was little traffic.

"People don't do a lot of driving, here," Hathaway said. "The roads are mostly for visitors and the Military. People prefer older forms of transport; horse, bicycle, boat. You'll find cars and buses in the cities."

"Shouldn't that be the other way around?"

Hathaway shrugged. "It's just the way it is."

"Mm."

**Author's Note:**

> Long work is my natural story form, and I genuinely thought this would be a one shot, yet as time passed and I wasn't getting any further with it, I started to panic, because of course time and deadlines wait for no writer. I've been struggling with this story for weeks, trying to pin it down and wrestle it into some sort of shape. I don't think I've ever worked so hard on writing that's part of my fan life, in all honesty, and given that I'm three years into a Sherlock WIP, that's saying something.
> 
> It was with one hell of a surprise that only a few minutes ago I realized that everything I've written this morning is actually the end of the story...and that I still need to write the middle. 
> 
> So. 
> 
> My apologies, dear readers, but this is only part one, and that parts two and three will be coming...eventually.


End file.
